Mr. Chair Man

Most of us can't even sit at our own dinner tables with any sense of control. But maybe if we had a chair like that one. What does it feel like, even if only for an instant?

On a quest such as this, there are so many questions inadvertently answered that we don't even have time for them all. Are members of the House allowed to eat Philly cheese steaks in the chairs? (No, but they can have cough drops.) Can we buy a replica of, say, the VP's presiding officer Senate chair to break out for special occasions like we do with dining-room-table extenders at Thanksgiving? (Yes, call me for details.) Is there truly a guy named Willie who drives around in a van and details all the wing-backed leather-upholstered chairs in Congress? (God, I hope so.)

But the only question I really want answered is: Can I sit in your chair? Can I hop in the saddle and share that sensation of soft cushioning and hard decisions?

* * *

"The furniture and architecture we surround ourselves with is how we represent ourselves, how we show what we aspire to in a particular time and place. That's why we built a dome so high it reaches into the sky."

-- Farar Elliott, U.S. House of Representatives curator

It is Day One of the Chair Quest, and I am in the upper gallery of the House chamber -- the rafters, the cheap seats. I've been tagged onto a small tour group visiting the Capitol -- "Just go in with them" -- that is being guided by a freckle-faced congressional staffer. Members of my group, which I think is from Atlanta, are full of questions.

"How many stars are there around the ceiling?" a young girl asks.

"I don't know; let's count them," the guide says excitedly.

While everyone is counting, I slip in a question about the chairs on the floor.

"How do I get down there?"

Still counting stars, she points to the stairs, and I get up.